#12: Getting from there to here
(poems, song, commentary)
I’ve been haunted occasionally by the image of a pre-war apartment building called The Century—not a real place (like the one on Central Park West) but one I imagine, wander into and write from. I’m thinking it must be in Detroit, Cleveland, or maybe LA. It first appeared as the unnamed setting for two poems: October 1941 and Renovation. Recently the image returned as the starting point for a new song, Here Comes the Zephyr.
I’m tempted to mete them out one by one. That would take care of “content” into July. And since I’ll be traveling soon, I could use the margin. But this platform seems to invite juxtaposition and gathering. I’m not saying these three pieces belong together, just that they share a slight provenance. And now that I’ve placed them in this frame, I see a thread I hadn’t seen before. Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe there’s more to be found. In either case intention and forethought will only take me so far.
Outside in the canyon, three stories down, a car alarm has decided that the low-frequency rumble of a passing truck poses a threat to its host. It’s been sounding off for the past twenty minutes, threatening to ruin everyone’s Sunday morning in this little corner of the grid. Grabbing the closed-back headphones, I remember last night, when I couldn’t sleep and a sequence of links landed me at The Art Tatum and Ben Webster Quartet. All the Things You Are. 1956 is already cued up.
First the poems, then the song.
October 1941
We've persuaded the last
loud stragglers into overcoats
elevators and taxis. From the foyer
we size up the enemy:
the apartment stunned silent,
platters of mangled canapés,
lead crystal tumblers,
hastily buried Chesterfields,
dead soldiers under the piano.
Autumn Leaves, their valediction,
slumps forward on the pedestal.
A linden branch taps at the window.[Edit 6/27, responding to Georgette. See comments.]
In October 1941 I’m referencing the song Autumn Leaves. Eva Cassidy's version occupies a place right next to Donny Hathaway’s live version of Song For You (by the great Leon Russell) and, more recently, Rosalía’s live version of Me Quedo Contigo (originally by Los Chunguitos). Those three performances belong together.
Anyway, back to Autumn Leaves. I had done some digging into its history. Apparently its origins date back to the late 19th century, when Jules Massenet put music to Paul Collin's Poème d'Octobre. That lyric is very much in keeping with those written by Jacques Prévert in 1945. Three lines from Paul Collin are enough to show the connection.
Profitons bien des jours d'automne,
où dans les cieux semble errer
la langueur plaintive des adieux
Or, in my very loose adaptation (which is not the same as translation),
let’s enjoy the autumn days
where the sad wails of farewell
seem to stray through the sky.Also, parts of Massenet's music may have inspired Joseph Kosma's composition, the one released with Prévert's lyrics as Les Feuilles Mortes, sung most famously by Yves Montand, then translated by Johnny Mercer into English. So Autumn Leaves is very much a post-war song. It didn’t really arrive in the US until the early 1950s. I can only imagine how it must've resonated then, on both sides of the Atlantic. But its origins predate the War.
All of this lies behind the poem (and to a lesser extent the song I posted here in April, Let’s Build a Fire). But your comment about capitalization shows me that the poem takes way too much for granted. I had in mind a song that hadn’t been written yet, though it had been in some way floating around France’s cultural ether, and a US declaration of war that hadn’t happened yet either, though….
The poem happens in before time, not real time. But it’s not working. I need to revise. And there’s another reason to revise: I had no idea about the Nazi propaganda leaflets, also floating around. Not even the soupçon of a hint. Amazing. But I can’t find anything on it. Can you point me toward a source? Thank you for the workshop comment!
Renovation
I don't miss
his appearing
in the morning
to quicken my glaze
shave, brush and appraise
all I held for him. My god,
the little he saw of himself,
taking what he needed,
sending me out on the hinges,
lost to the room, pink tile
to my edges. Sometimes,
returning what he’d taken,
he'd drop a dull blade
through the slot,
We'd listen
for the click
down in the wall.
Here Comes the Zephyr
The Century condemned, the holdouts were moved out to other arrangements, hovels and tents. The City stepped in. The financing fell through. Lawsuits ensued. And that’s where we are. Now here comes the Zephyr...
Maggie and me, we found us a hollow, a curve in the tracks by an old piñon tree. It isn’t so bad. We’re used to the rumble, the clickety-clack of the chemical train.
But here comes the Zephyr...
We pray it won't stop. It's so fucking awkward. Nobody knows how they should act. The couples in sleepers tighten their curtains. Up in the bubble they discover the sun. All of our laundry is hanging on branches, or over the chainlink fence around free. I went out today, found these two beach chairs. The things people toss
you wouldn't believe. And here comes the Zephyr...
Subscribed Richard. It’s worth the money to hear more 👍
You know, come to think of it, this song kind of hits me as an American version of "You Stay Here", only the threat here is from economic and social forces, not political ones. But maybe that's just me.